The first wistful days of October

The autumn soil succumbs , having have given graciously of her womb ;

She slowly surrenders at last to the slumber of the tomb,

As the winter constellations in legions form ;

And the lifeless leaves hang with dark and stark forlorn.

**

The sheep from their mountain pastures descend ;

And the hillside farmers go forth their tattered fences to mend .

The sun she rises low and dips lower by the day

And shadows longer grow across the sodden clay.

***

The exuberance of the year is dying ;

And summer birds are to their winter migrations flying;

And the boughts with dew are sighing

But all is with the pendulum of nature complying.

****

The chestnuts are falling all along the lane ;

And my moods unto SADS they yield again ;

That wretched curse of both the mad and the quite sane,

And how I wish these thoughts were just inane.

*****

But natures Soul must rest and replenish,

So it can bring again a spring with joyous relish:

And the world must pass to reluctant slumber

These early wistful days , of superanuated October.